


Jackrabbit Week: Easter 2015

by FrostOverlord



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, rise of the guardians
Genre: Blizzard of '68, Drunk Bunny, Gen, Introspective Aster, M/M, Misunderstandings, Why are lamps so mean?, as in 1868, graphic depictions of injury, victory party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostOverlord/pseuds/FrostOverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be my first time participating not only in Jackrabbit week, but in this sort of event in general. So here's the assorted, mostly unrelated stories my brain has conjured. May they be read and enjoyed by all!</p><p>Happy Easter, Everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Place He Can Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Pitch Black's Defeat, E. Aster Bunnymund finally accepts this place as home.

It was over.

They had won.

Pitch Black… wasn’t dead. Much like Aster, now, the Nightmare King would never truly die. But he had been defeated, his fearlings slain or locked up, and much of his power sealed away. They had done it.

For so long, Aster had thought himself alone, unknowable to anyone. He had hoped, oh how he had hoped, that there would come a time when he found upon this strange planet some form of… consolation, perhaps. That he might find something to replace the void left by the death of his people, to help fill the gap left in his heart.

What he eventually found were the humans. So much potential, so much promise. He had placed his hopes in them, giving them the gifts of his inventions, sharing the knowledge of his people. He had tried. So very hard.

Yet the humans proved time and time again to be a bloodthirsty race of fools.

He had thought his efforts wasted. He had thought that he might never find solace.

And yet.

Looking up from the cup in his hands, Aster allowed his gaze to drift across his new companions. Manfred’s “Guardians,” of whose number he was now counted amongst. Here in the safety of Santoff Claussen, the “place of dreams,” they too seemed to be realizing their victory. Nicholas, brash as he was, stood upon the table they had set up here in the clearing, recklessly swinging a mug of some substance called egg-nog around as he danced in celebration. Aster shook his head fondly. He would never understand that man, but Nicholas proven himself a good friend. And he had proven as well that, perhaps, humans could change.

Toothianna sat in the branches of Big Root, looking down upon the celebration with a smile on her face. Much like Aster, she wasn’t used to being a part of such gatherings, but now she was one of them as well. She had taken the oath just as they had, and Aster could tell without needing to peer within her mind that she was enjoying the companionship already. Not that he would, for the last time he’d tried to grasp her intentions with mind reading had ended rather poorly.

Shoving the unpleasant memory aside, Aster followed Toothianna’s gaze to the ring of children playing off to the side. Ever since Katherine had first told the grand story of their victory on the moon, the children had been acting it out as they had all their battles. The Williams, Sasha, Peter and the others taking turns playing the parts of the Guardians, and dragging the yeti and elves in to play as well. Even the Bear took part in their game, though he mostly served as a large, furry prop. It brought a smile to Aster’s face, to see children able to play without fear.

It made him remember his own.

Turning away, Aster caught sight of Ombric and Sanderson, chatting away as best they could at the other end of the table. Aster snorted in amusement as he watched the wizard trying to pry information out of the silent star pilot, his insatiable curiosity likely driving him to learn more about what Sanderson was while the golden man was still awake. Ombric was still like a child in that way, always needing to know more about the world.

He, too, was a good friend.

Aster took another sip of his tea, smile falling away, and looked up to the stars. So long ago, now, he had lost everything. His home, his family, his friends. His people. Though he would always hope for the survival of his race, he knew that he would never regain what he had once had.

But now… now, perhaps, he could make a new life. He could start over, here on this strange planet with its stranger people. He had made new friends, new comrades. They had accepted him, despite his appearance and prejudices.

Yes, perhaps this had been everything he’d hoped for all along. Perhaps he truly could call this place, this planet, his Home.

His home. Where he once more had found friendship. And maybe, someday…

Aster placed a paw above his heart and smiled. He could always hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's Jackrabbit week and this is all Rabbit with no Jack. Don't worry, Jack will be showing up soon!


	2. Heartseeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm rages on.  
> He hunts for the heart.

Snow and ice ripped past his face, tugging at ears and fur and clothing as he pushed forward through the blistering winds. Heavy powder fell in sheets around him, coating the world in white. His paws were falling numb from cold, his eyes watering as he glanced back and forth through the trees whipping by. Uncharacteristic rage coursed through his veins, keeping him going in the abominable weather, igniting again and again as he passed yet another carriage that had lost control and was now buried in the unnatural ice that rained down from the heavens.

He felt another light fade. Another child giving up hope. And the rage and sorrow grew stronger still.

Normally this was a day where he hid. He hid, and children hunted for that which he had hidden. Today, however, it was he who would be hunting. And when he found his quarry, he would make certain that they would regret their transgressions. This storm was unnatural, he knew. It was spring, His time. Someone, some heartless interloper had seen the need to invade his season, his Day.

And because of that, people were hurt.

And so he ran through the blinding snow. Searching.

The wind pushed against him, fighting him in a way that made it almost seem alive. It screamed at him, shouted, made so much _noise._ Attacking him as though a mother trying to protect her child. The storm’s heart, perhaps. The Wind pushed, and shouted, and whistled its piercing whistle. Undeterred, he pushed back.

And, eventually, he broke though.

The wind died down to a low howl behind him, leaving his ears ringing in its sudden absence, and the snowbound forest surrounding him fell into an almost unearthly calm. The breakneck pace at which he had been moving fell into a stilted walk, the shock from the sudden change breaking through the enraged haze that had overtaken his mind. Snow fell around him in gentle flakes, rather than flurries. The wind didn’t attack, it caressed. Here, in this place, all was calm.

And it was in this place that he saw the boy.

The other’s presence was jarring, his clothing threadbare and his feet unprotected. Curled upon the ground, with snow building upon his shoulders, his only possession a shepherd’s crook resting against his frail frame. For the briefest of instants he made to help the boy, to shield him from the cold and guide him to a safe place. But as he took his first step, the other details sank in. The calm in his posture. The pale, angular features. The almost colorless hairs so thin and light upon the young man’s face that no human would be able to see them. The cold, lonely eyes. This was no child, but a man.

No, not even a man, for he sat upon the snow itself without so much as leaving a mark upon its pale surface. This was a spirit.

He scowled at the motionless spirit, here in the center of the storm, and stalked along the precipice of the eye.

He had found his prey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you Jack would show up soon. :P
> 
> Also, if anyone is wondering, I personally tend to set '68 in 1868, because reason (Like there actually being snowstorms during that time period. No seriously, I actually checked). This means that we're only around a half-century after the books, maybe less, maybe more. And this is why Aster has not yet stopped wearing his clothes when running his Easter route.
> 
> At least, in my head. I imagine he'll realize how inconvenient that coat is pretty soon after this, but eh.


	3. Mending More than Just the Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may all consider the following to be the sequel to a previous work of mine, "Mercy."
> 
> *smiles*

Pain; like nothing he had ever felt.

Glimpses of blue and green and red. And shouting, so much shouting.

His entire body was afire with agony. He would scream, if only he could make the sounds.

A flash of gold, the sound of bells and shifting sand, and he fell into oblivion.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The voices woke him. The voices, and the pain.

“He’s a dead man!”

The pain was a dull presence now, but it was all he felt.

“You could get hurt!”

The voices, shouting. Arguing. Always arguing.                                                                                                                  

“I don’t care!”

He could see them, off to the side. The Guardians. His friends. Arguing.

“What will you do?”

It possessed him to wonder, amidst the haze of pain and noise, where Jack was marching off to with such a determined look upon his face.

“No mercy.”

Then Jack was gone, and the others were shouting after him. All save Sandy, who looked towards Aster.

Dreamsand invaded his vision, and sleep once more eclipsed the world.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Again the voices woke him. Just the voices, for the pain had been replaced by an unnerving lack of sensation throughout much of his body. His head felt light, and his eyes heavy, but though Aster should have suffered nausea, he did not.

He directed his attention to the voices, instead.

They were arguing, again. Jack had done something. They sounded unnerved, but it was hard to hear them clearly. They were farther away, and his left ear wouldn’t pick up the sound as well as it should.

He heard a noise, like a window forcefully clattering closed.

He was so very tired. It was almost too easy to fall back into darkness.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When he woke up again, it was not to voices, nor to pain. His body felt heavy, so very heavy, with little in the way of sensation. The sound of dripping reached his ears, but swiveling them about did little to give direction to the noise. He tried to move his arm, and though it felt as though it heeded his commands, he could not see it rising up to his right.

Upon turning his head, made difficult by the stiffness in his neck, it became clear why.

His right arm _wasn’t there._

A panicked yelp issued forth from his mouth, and he felt as though he were pushing himself away from the source of his distress. The view, however, did not change. He remained motionless.

The sound of metal clattering against wood echoed behind him, an utterance of a curse in Russian following close behind. Suddenly Aster felt- he _felt_ \- a hand settle upon his left shoulder. Calming noises fell against his ears, though the sound seemed muffled in his left. Aster’s breath came in ragged inhales that never quite seemed to give him enough air, and his heart was racing as he struggled to gain some semblance of composure.

His heart.

The thought made Aster still as it sank in. He focused on that realization, using it to help him clear his head and make _sense_ of his situation. As he calmed, his heart rate slowed to a less painful pace.

His heartbeat.

Pooka were supposed to have _three._

Behind him, or above him, now, he heard the shifting of cloth and a relieved sigh. Aster turned his head, still so difficult, to look at the source.

Of course. North.

After a moment North seemed to realize that he was looking at him, and smiled brightly in response.

“Bunny, you are awake!”

Aster frowned, trying to turn his head to look at the rest of his body, and failing. “North, what the hell is going on?” His voice was hoarse, as if his vocal chords had never been used.

Aster’s memories held an impression of battle, of pain, of shadows and flashes of color. Most of it was just a haze of emotion, nothing solid to grasp at, though some of it played out like a scene from some nightmarish motion picture.

North coughed, drawing Aster’s attention back to him even as the pooka realized it had left. North’s brow was furrowed as he looked down at Aster, eyes slowly panning over the length of his body.

“There was a battle,” he said. “You were injured.”

‘Injured’ seemed an understatement, considering Aster’s lack of an arm.

“How bad is it?” he asked, voice cracking mid-way through the question. For some reason, Aster found himself dreading the answer.

North did not answer immediately, hesitating as he looked Aster over once more. After what seemed like an age, however, he took a breath in preparation to answer.

“I will be honest with you,” he began, “I am not certain how you are conscious at this moment. We have had to place you on life support, both magic and machines. Much of your body is-“

North paused again, examining Aster’s face. His reaction. Aster scowled at him.

“My body is what, North? Spit it out.”

“Much of your body… no longer exists.”

North allowed a moment for the information to sink in before continuing, likely anticipating Aster’s inevitable request for a full account of the damage even as he internalized the news.

“You were torn apart by the shadows. We tried to recover the pieces, but there was only so much left intact. Entire body below waist is gone, with exception of left leg. We have preserved it until it can be reattached. Left ear is missing from just above the base, and left arm is missing middle and index fingers, but has thankfully remained attached to torso.”

North stopped again at that point, though obviously unfinished. Aster rolled his eyes at the man’s hesitance, before shooting him a glare. North took the hint, nodding as he began to speak once more.

“There is… hole in your torso. We have no way to tell what all is missing and what all was spared, but you are at least missing stomach and a lung.”

Aster nodded slowly, he’d almost expected that. It certainly explained the dearth of heartbeats. After a moment longer, he looked back over to his right, where the stump just past his shoulder met the air. Behind him, North chuckled.

“Ah, yes. Right arm is miraculously intact. Perfect condition, all things considered.”

There was the sound of metal scraping against wood and then tile, followed shortly by footsteps. Then Aster saw North enter his vision again, a large grey object hanging limp in his arms. “Magic has been coaxing your regeneration slightly, so that we may attach what limbs survived as quickly as possible. Was just about to put arm back into place.”

It wasn’t until North placed the appendage down next to the stump on Aster’s right side that he recognized it as his arm. The limb hardly looked real to him, as though it were one of those fakes that humans put in their science classrooms to help teach about anatomy. He would have thought that the case had he not known better, though the slightly shimmering film of magic along the stump certainly helped. Aster could clearly see past the film, despite the minor discoloration, to the bone, the blood vessels that-

Aster turned his head away. He had never been squeamish before, but it was _his arm._

North chuckled, but didn’t say anything about the uncharacteristic display. The two remained quiet for some time after that. Aster stared at the ceiling as he came to terms with his current physical state, and North, judging from the tugging sensation near Aster’s shoulder, was distracted with replanting Aster’s arm.      

The silence hung thick over them, broken only by the occasional muttered incantation from North as he reattached vessels, muscles, arteries, bone. It felt like hours, and probably was, before the numbed sensations ceased, and Aster heard North sigh in relief.

“It is done,” he said.

Aster nodded, but didn’t bother trying to move his arm. Even if it had been reconnected, he suspected that it would be a while before he could move it properly. Instead he turned his head to look at North as the man began to place his bloodied tools upon a small metal tray.

“North?” he questioned, calling the man’s attention to him.

“What is it, Bunny?” North seemed almost amused by Aster speaking to him, obviously the result of him not expecting Aster to be conscious.

“Where is Jack?”

Though he tried to hide it, Aster saw the slight pause in North’s movements, the sudden change in demeanor. Something was wrong.

“Why is it you ask?” North questioned, eyes carefully avoiding Aster as he went about cleaning his tools.

“I- I remember,” Aster blinked a few times, taking a moment to clear his head before continuing from the false start. “I remember that Jack… saved me? My head, at least. He-“

If Aster was remembering correctly, Jack was the only one that hadn’t been panicking when Aster had been rendered headless, instead swiftly retrieving what remained of the still conscious Pooka and protecting him for the remainder of the battle. It played out like a horror film in his head, the action a blur, with bits and pieces in crystal clarity. But the point stood that it was because of Jack that Aster hadn’t been in a far worse state.

He needed to thank him, at the very least.

The look that came across North’s face as Aster spoke was pained, and North seemed to ignore the question, going back to cleaning his tools and putting them in a drawer marked with a hazard symbol a short distance away. Suddenly Aster began to wonder if Jack had been injured too.

The thought was far more worrying to him than his own condition. Aster could regenerate anything given time, but Jack…

“North, what’s happened to Jack?”

The question seemed to startle North out of his silence, the man shutting the drawer with a touch more force than necessary. “Nothing has happened to Jack,” North stated. “He is unharmed. Is what he has done that is worrying, not his physical condition.”

What he’s done? “What did Jack do?” And why had it made North seem so upset?

After a moment more of metal clinking against metal and clicking against wood, North sighed and set the tray in his hands down on the counter before him. He turned to face Aster, and after a moment began to step closer. “Is… difficult to say. Jack, he…” North gestured with his hands, reaching for the right words to describe whatever it was that Jack had done. Finally, he allowed his hands to drop back to his sides.

“Jack visited Pitch after you stabilized,” North explained. “He… afflicted him with his ice, frostbite, and trapped him in his lair with light.” North actually shuddered. “Sandy saw what happened; Jack purified whatever dreamsand had still been there. Pitch is still screaming, and will likely stay this way for many centuries.”

It took all Aster had to not smile; served the wicked bastard right. He was surprised Jack hadn’t done something like this sooner, but it was perhaps a testament to the young man’s character that it had taken a friend being almost mortally wounded for him to react as most Winter seasonals would to such transgressions.

After a moment, it occurred to Aster that it had taken a single instance him being severely wounded to do what centuries of harassment by the Nightmare King had not. He didn't know if he should be flattered or worried that Jack seemed to place Aster's well-being above his own.

A moment after that, it occurred to him that Jack acting as his season was the action that seemed to have so disturbed North.

Aster looked over at North, who after a moment seemed to register his confusion. “North,” he began, “Is this why you’re acting strange?”

North seemed confused now as well, if the look he was giving Aster was anything to go by. “You… are not surprised by this?”

Aster snorted at that. “Not in the least.”

North seemed… affronted. He took a step back, staring at Aster with wide, surprised eyes. “But Jack is so young! And innocent! Is-“

“- completely within reason for him to react how he did, and it’s a testament to the bloke’s character that he hasn’t done something like this sooner,” Aster finished, cutting North off.

North stood in place, jaw slack as he stared at Aster in confusion. Suddenly, Aster recalled hearing arguing. He wasn’t sure when he’d heard it, or where exactly, but it was certainly after being injured.

“North,” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion. “Have you been treating Jack differently because of this?”

North seemed to sober at that, his eyes closing and his brow furrowing. “It came as a shock, to us, that Jack would do such a thing,” he reasoned.

He didn’t even _try_ to deny the accusation.

Suddenly something like rage overtook Aster, a violent growl fighting its way out of his throat and startling North.

“Why,” Aster asked, his voice suddenly stronger, “Would you treat Jack _any differently?_ He’s _Winter,_ North! Why would him acting as his season-“

Suddenly a cough overtook Aster, breaking his tirade before it could begin. The coughing lasted nearly a minute, and when the fit was over and Aster looked back at North the man’s eyes were wide, though it was confusion that danced in them rather than understanding. As soon as Aster had recovered from his coughing fit, North spoke up.

“Jack is winter spirit, yes, but he is different-“

“No, North,” Aster cut him off again, glaring. “Jack _is Winter_.”

North only looked more confused at first, but then a light seemed to switch on in his head, and the look on his face transformed into shock. “He is… Winter?”

Aster simply closed his eyes, changing the position of his head to a more comfortable one. Between learning of his current physical state, talking with North, and the coughing fit that had overtaken him, he didn’t have the energy left to argue much longer.

“Much the same way I’m Spring, yes. I had thought it obvious,” he said. “Apparently it wasn’t.”

Aster sighed, then, opening his eyes just long enough to look up at North. “Go find Jack for me, would you? I want to talk with him.”

North made some noise, as though he intended to argue against the request, but instead nodded and turned to leave, his work finished.

Aster sighed again, and closed his eyes once more.

  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  
When next Aster was pulled from unconsciousness, it was by the sound of a door opening and a faint chill permeating the air. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, after all he’d suffered through recently. There was a soft click as the door was closed, as though the person was trying to not disturb the injured pooka in the room’s center. After a moment, there was a soft click of wood carefully impacting wood, and something cool pressed against Aster’s left arm. Surprising, as there hadn’t been any other noise to indicate that whoever had entered the room had moved from the door.

Aster slowly opened his eyes, blinking away what tiredness he still felt, and looked over to his left.

Jack was sitting in the chair next to the bed, his hand on Aster’s arm. The young man didn’t notice that he had Aster’s attention yet, as his eyes were cast lower on Aster’s cloth-covered body. He looked horrible, his skin paler than usual, and eyes baggy and tinted red around the edges from either lack of sleep, or crying.

Aster found himself hoping that it was the former.

After a moment longer, Jack’s eyes made their way back up to Aster’s head, widening in surprise when they found that he was awake. Jack’s hand shifted, as though ready to move, but stopped when Aster smiled at him. It was a weak smile, but still recognizable, and soon Jack returned it with a hesitant smile of his own.

“Hey, Cottontail, how you feeling?”

Aster exhaled, a half-attempted laugh escaping. “Well, I’ve definitely been better.”

They didn’t speak again for a time, an awkward silence falling over the both of them as Aster directed his attention to the ceiling. Jack’s hand remained on his arm, thumb occasionally shifting as if trying to resist petting the fur below it. Eventually, Aster heard Jack shift in his chair, and looked over at the winter spirit.

“So,” Jack asked as his attention fell upon him, “North said you wanted to talk to me?”

Aster nodded, relieved to find that the stiffness in his neck had begun to go away. “Wanted to thank you.”

“What for?” Imagine that, Jack sounded surprised.

“Saving my life,” Aster replied. “I… remember bits, pieces. You were the only one that stayed calm when everything happened.” Aster sighed. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be in a much worse state than I am. I very well could have died.”

Jack’s face scrunched up, and he made an agitated sound in the back of his throat. “Should have kept it from happening at all,” he murmured.

Aster growled at him in response.

“There’s no way anyone could have expected the battle to go that way. We thought all the fearlings had been killed or locked away millennia ago. Last time we fought the bloody things was before we even knew you existed, Jack. There’s no way you could have known what would have happened.”

Jack rolled his eyes, obviously not believing his words, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, he looked back down at Aster’s torso.

Or, perhaps, what it lacked.

“None of this is your fault, Jack,” Aster said. He frowned when Jack didn’t respond. Then, remembering his talk with North, his frown went away, a not-quite-smile taking its place. “Pitch is the one to blame, not you.”

Almost immediately Jack tensed up, his hand tightening around Aster’s arm painfully for a moment before the boy remembered himself. Jack looked down at Aster, an apology already on his lips, but the pooka simply rolled his eyes.

Jack frowned, then looked up at the wall to Aster’s right. “So, I guess they told you, then?”

“About what you did to Pitch?”

Jack nodded, and sighed in resignation. His eyes closed, and his head fell to his chest. Obviously, he was expecting Aster to react as the others had.

“About damn time you let the bloody bastard have it,” is what he got instead.

Aster watched, somewhat amused, as Jack registered what he had said. The young man’s head shot up in surprise, eyes locked on Aster’s and searching for any sign of falsehood within the statement.

“You… you aren’t…”

“Aren’t what? Angry? Disappointed? Disturbed?”

Jack looked away.

“Jack, mate, I’m honestly surprised it took someone almost dying before you finally went after him on your own terms.” Jack looked back over at Aster, who smiled faintly. “You’ve got a lot more self-control than I’d initially given you credit for.”

Jack simply stared at him, confusion and surprise decorating his features in a way that, dare Aster say it, was rather adorable. Adorable though he was, however, Jack was still being an idiot. Aster sighed, and turned his gaze back to the ceiling once more.

Silence fell over them again, but didn’t last nearly as long as before.

“You know,” Aster said, “I’m not sure whether I should be worried, or flattered.”

Jack made an inquisitive noise, causing Aster to look over at him.

“By what?” Jack asked.

“By the fact that you seem to consider my own well-being above your own.”

Jack glanced away, a faint pink stealing over his face. “You’re my friend,” he whispered.

Aster didn’t immediately know how to respond to that, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to. Pain shot through his right side, burning needles stabbing into his shoulder and pulling an anguished cry from him. Jack immediately stood, eyes wide and panicked.

“What’s wrong?”

Aster whimpered as the fire spread through his arm, but managed to keep from screaming as he responded. “My arm,” he managed to squeak out. “Nerves. Starting to reconnect.”

Jack looked relieved, and after a single concerned glance at Aster’s arm he returned to his seat. There was to be no more conversation from there. Pooka had never been good with pain, and Aster was no exception. It was why they were built how they were, like a prey animal, to avoid getting hurt in the first place.

After a moment, Aster felt a pressure in his left palm. It took him a bit, but he managed to look over at where Jack’s hand had fallen into what was left of his own.

Aster did what he could to smile, and pressed his thumb into the back of Jack’s hand.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Aster frowned, glaring at Jack from over the little table that had been set up next to his infirmary bed. Liquid dripped out a constant rhythm in the nearby IV, and outside the window the occasional click of hailstones reminded the room's occupants of the midnight storm outside. Across from Aster, Jack was sitting cross-legged in a large, cushioned chair he’d convinced North to put into the pooka’s room, smirking at said pooka over his cards.

“Go fish.”

Almost immediately Jack’s smirk vanished, and Aster’s frown turned over as the young man reached out to draw a card from the slowly dwindling pool. “Thought for sure I had you,” he grumbled.

“Naw, mate, you lost last turn. Got any queens?”

Jack looked ready to argue, but instead pouted silently as he handed over the card he had just picked up. Aster happily took the card, and placed it and three others down next to his already impressive collection of completed books. It had been nearly a full year, now, since Aster had been injured. He had regained full range of motion in both of his arms, and his left leg had been successfully replanted on his newly-regenerated pelvis..

Up until now things had been rather painful, and he had been asleep for as much of it as they could risk, Sandy using his dreamsand to keep Aster sedated through the worst of it. He’d even slept through the Easter season, something which irritated him to no end. Thankfully the other Guardians pitched in to make sure his holiday went on fine while he recovered, but the fact remained that Aster had been unable to do his job. It was an unpleasant feeling, sleeping through his holiday.

Those times that he was awake, however, were rather pleasant in contrast. Jack was almost always present and ready to entertain, and was extremely helpful in general. After Aster’s stomach had made it known that it was functioning, for example, Jack had immediately gone to get some food that would be easy for him to eat.

And had helped him eat it, when they discovered that full range of motion in Aster’s arms didn’t necessarily mean that he could hold things.

Aster looked down at the three cards remaining in his hand, and up at Jack’s sizable hand of ten, and chuckled.

“Got any-“

Aster was cut off by the door flying open, startling both himself and Jack as the other Guardians filed into the room. Aster frowned, placing his cards down on the table in front of him. Jack did the same, turning to look at the others as they walked towards the bed.

North looked absolutely giddy with excitement, Tooth and Sandy weren’t any better.

“Alright,” Aster said, “what’s all this then?”

North looked over at Tooth and Sandy, who both nodded and looked over at Aster. North’s expression somehow managed to brighten even more, and he raised his arms and opened his mouth to share whatever news had brought the others to Aster’s bedside.

Tooth, however, ended up stealing his thunder. “You’re ready to be taken off life support!”

Immediately North seemed to deflate, looking over at Tooth with a pitiful look in his eyes. “This was my news, Toothy.”

Tooth smile sheepishly, giving North an apologetic look. Over in his chair, Jack started laughing. Either at the byplay, or out of happiness, Aster wasn’t sure.

Aster himself didn’t react immediately, ignoring the others in favor of mulling over the news that had been dropped on him. He had suspected that he might be taken off of life support since his third heart had started beating again a week ago, but to actually _hear_ it…

Aster didn’t realize that he’d zoned out until he felt a soft shake of his arm. Looking over he saw Jack staring back, concern evident in his eyes. “You okay, Bunny?” he asked.

Aster blinked back, before nodding. “Just… a bit overwhelmed is all I guess. The worst part is over.” Aster paused a moment, before smiling. “I can go back to my Warren. Sleep in my own bed again.”

Apparently not, however, if the tutting noise Tooth was making was anything to go by. Sandy and Jack, for their part, looked just as confused as Aster was by that.

“No,” she declared, “you need to stay here where we can keep an eye on you. Just because you no longer need to be hooked up to machines doesn’t mean you can start doing things on your own. You’re still missing pieces, Bunny, and we don’t know the state of your internal structure other than that everything vital has regenerated.”

Aster rolled his eyes. “I can ease your mind there: everything on the inside’s intact, at least above the waist. Third heart wouldn’t have regenerated if there was anything else to restore.”

Tooth didn’t look convinced. Off to his side, Jack whispered something about aliens being strange, then seemed to come to a decision. The young man hopped out of the chair he’d been sitting in, floating to the ground in front of the others.

“Listen, guys, we just need someone to keep an eye on him, right?”

There was murmuring between Tooth and North, and then the both of them nodded.

“Which means,” North said, “He must stay here.”

Jack rolled his eyes at that. “What if I stayed in the Warren with him for a while? Make sure he’s alright. My off-season just started anyway.”

Tooth and North both looked surprised, and a bit concerned. To be fair, Aster understood the surprised bit, he was too. He certainly hadn’t expected Jack to volunteer as sole caretaker. Sure Jack had been entertaining Aster when he had been awake, but Aster hadn’t been awake much over the past year, largely sleeping for weeks at a time as he recovered. Jack had only been able to show his face when Aster _was_ awake because Sandy told the others when he would be.

The concerned bit, however, irked Aster. Even after he’d told them all off for treating Jack differently after the events of last year, Tooth and North still seemed unable to fully accept that Jack wasn’t just some innocent kid. Worse, they seemed to be worried that Jack might snap at any moment. Even now, they both seemed to hesitate at the prospect of Jack looking after Aster, despite him having been Aster’s primary company for most of his stay in the pole’s infirmary.

So Aster made the decision for them.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said, catching the attention of everyone in the room.

Jack smiled at him. “Besides,” he added, “Cottontail here might get better faster if he’s in a familiar place.”

Sandy nodded in agreement, indicating with HIS sand that he seconded the notion

North and Tooth shared a hesitant glance, before finally nodding in agreement. Behind them, the door opened, and a yeti walked in rolling a wheelchair in front of him.

“Phil! Perfect timing.”

North was glaring at the yeti as it brought the chair over, disconnected Aster from the tubes he’d been wired up to, and started to help him into the chair. Clearly he hadn’t given any orders to this effect, which meant that either someone else had given the order, or the Yeti overheard their previous conversation and had agreed with Jack and Aster.

Judging from the respectful nods in both his and Jack’s directions as the Yeti revealed a snowglobe, Aster guessed that it was probably the later.

He hardly even complained as Jack wheeled him through the portal.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Pass me that can, would you?”

Jack laughed, and obeyed the order, moving a can of paint close enough for Aster to reach from his chair.

“There you are, Sir Fluffybutt.”

It had been three years, now, since Aster had been injured, and Easter was upon them.

“Oi! I told you not to call me that!”

Healing had slowed to a standstill after Aster returned to the Warren with Jack, a side effect of speeding along his early healing with magic, they suspected.

“Hey, your butt being fluffy is a good thing!”

Still, his body had rested, and healing had resumed. Already the digits on his left hand had regenerated, as had the rest of his left ear. Even his tail, and everything else in the pelvic area, had been fully restored.

“Oh shut it, you crazy larrikin. Get back to painting, we’ve still got a few hundred left to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Fluffybutt.”

All that was left was his leg, which had by now regenerated almost halfway to the knee. And as he watched his companion from the corner of his eye, he realized that even if it hadn’t, he could wait.

He had all the time in the world.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Hesitation, shaking legs as he let go of his support.

A beat of his hearts, and still he remained standing.

Steps, one after the other, foot before foot. Words of encouragement graced his ears.

His entire body ached with exertion, and yet his soul sang in triumph.

There was laughter, cheering as he passed his goal and fell exhausted into the other’s embrace.

He turned his head, to express his thanks, only for their lips to meet.

When finally they pulled away, it was to wonder at the future laid before them.

And at how he had gained so much more than he had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge delay on this, everyone! Life interrupted at the most inopportune time during Jackrabbit week. Don't worry, though, I plan to finish all of these fills and post them as soon as possible... just might take me a while is all.
> 
> This being the case, please enjoy the fact that these are all turning out a bit... longer... than I'd originally anticipated. :3


	4. He Left His Head Above the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate is to Pooka much the same as Alcohol is to humans.
> 
> You aren't sure why you agreed to this.

You sigh, tapping your foot in frustration as you stare down your foe. They stare back with their eyeless gaze, unaffected by the force of your ire alone. You, however, refuse to give up. This most heinous of enemies has said things which you cannot forgive. As the staring contest wears on, they say more things. Cruel, hurtful words about not just you, but your friends as well. For their crimes, your foe shall suffer the full force of your wrath.

The fact that you’re staring down a lamp is not lost on you, it just isn’t particularly relevant.

Around you the other Guardians are having all sorts of fun. Off to your left are Tooth and Sandy, singing (and ‘singing’) some song that you don’t recognize, and to your right Jack and North are battling constitutions, alternating playful insults and downing drinks that seem to be in endless supply.

Jack’s winning.

And here you are, arguing with a lamp over whether or not Sandy can actually get drunk, or whose business it is what Jack thinks of yourself and the others, or why you had let said others convince you to join them in their evening of ‘merrymaking’ when you aren’t actually interacting with any of them. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and you are fully aware of this.

It doesn’t change the fact that you’re still doing it. Chocolate does strange things to Pooka, much the same way alcohol does strange things to humans.

“Hey Bunny, you okay?”

Jack’s voice breaks your concentration, forcing you to pull your eyes away from the silently gloating scarlet monstrosity you have been glaring at and turn your gaze to the winter spirit off to your side. Jack is smiling, his cheeks somewhat rosier than they normally are, but otherwise completely unfazed by the copious amounts of cider he’s ingested. Behind him, North is snoring.

Your nose twitches, and you allow yourself to blink. It’s almost certainly the choco talking, but in this moment you can’t see Jack as anything less than stunning. Ruffled white hair, pale skin offset by the crimson tint brought on by his certain inebriation. Even the thin, colorless whiskers upon his face, visible only to the sharpest of eyes.

You have no doubt in your mind that within the next several minutes you will be embarrassing yourself.

After what seems like only a few moments, Jack’s smile twists a bit, his brow rising in a questioning manner. “Hello, Earth to Bunny?”

Right, you should probably answer him.

The dazed ‘uh’ that comes out of your mouth isn’t at all what you’d intended, but it seems to appease Jack for the moment, the young man’s smile returning with a huff of laughter.

“So,” he asks, stepping a back a bit. “What’s up cottontail?”

What you want to say is that you’ve not been doing anything of importance, that you’ve been doing something other than talking to a lamp. That you-

Oh look, the lamp is talking again.

You ignore it at first; it’s not actually talking, it’s just the chocolate getting to your head. You’re fully aware that it’s nothing more than a drunken hallucination that’s causing the lamp to talk, so you try your best to focus your attention on Jack. But as you try to formulate a coherent reply, something other than wordless gawking at the young man in front of you, something the lamp says makes you stop in your tracks.

How _dare_ it.

Before the logical part of your mind is able to comprehend what’s going on, you’ve turned on the lamp, fist already in flight. There’s a crash as the lamp crumples under your hand and falls to the ground, and for a moment it occurs to you that you’ve probably just drawn the attention of everyone in the room.

A quick look up confirms that no one except Jack even noticed, luckily for you.

Jack’s face is decorated with amusement and confusion, his eyes moving slowly between you and the lamp now laying on the floor. Part of you, the logical part, isn’t sure why you just punched out a lamp.

The other part knows exactly why, because how _dare_ it.

“Any particular reason you just punched out a lamp, Bunny?”

Jack’s question jars you out of the angry haze you’d found yourself in, allowing you to once again gain some semblance of control over yourself. You could just dismiss it, you’re drunk, after all, and Jack knows it. He’ll probably spend a week or two poking fun at you for talking to lamps, but that’s not the end of the world, Jack pokes fun at everyone. It will be fine, so long as you don’t tell him that you just punched out a lamp because-

“That bloody, stupid, Christmas-coated aboma- abomin- _thing_ was sayin’ rude things about you!”

Bloody hell, you don’t have _nearly_ as much control as you thought you did. Jack looks surprised by the statement, but you can’t tell if it’s a good-surprised, or a bad-surprised. You’ve no idea what he’s thinking, even as his smile slips effortlessly back into place.

“That so?” he says, giving you a look you don’t quite recognize.

You aren’t sure how you feel about that look. It’s as though Jack is picking you apart with his eyes, trying to discern your intentions when, really, you’re just a drunk idiot with no idea what he’s talking about.

From the looks of things, though, it might still be possible to salvage the situation. Jack looks more confused than he does amused, and seems to be waiting for you to elaborate more. You could say anything, that it had insulted Jack’s intelligence, or his work ethic. Something that would make _sense_ for you to get worked up over, especially now that you’ve spent a few years actually getting to know the kid.

You discover, however, as you open your mouth to talk, that you no longer have any control of the situation whatsoever.

“It said you’re selfish and don’t like me.”

You could have said anything in that miserable tone, and of all the options, you chose that.

Well done, you.

Jack’s smile drops immediately into a frown. His displeasure is obvious, but what part of your statement was causing it? The damn lamp’s assertion that Jack was selfish? That Jack doesn’t like you? Oh no, what if he had taken that to mean you’re attracted to him? Would it be that bad if-

The lamp pipes in from the ground. He could never possibly be attracted to a giant, male-identifying rabbit like yourself.

You politely tell it to shut the hell up. At the top of your lungs.

This time, Jack isn’t the only one to notice the noise you make.

As Tooth and Sandy turn to gawk, and North looks around in confusion for the noise that woke him up, you make plans for your near future. You immediately decide that you’re going to stop talking to the lamp, because first, it's a lamp. Lamps don't actually talk. And second, everything it's saying is absolutely ridiculous. After that, you're going to open up a tunnel, and go to the Warren where you can take a nap, nurse your eventual hangover, and not say anything else that's going to embarrass you.

Your plan goes rather well, up until you actually try to make a tunnel.

You tap your foot, trying to work the magic needed to open up a tunnel, but nothing happens. Upon repeating the action, you get the same result. In front of you, Jack’s frown deepens.

“Something wrong?” he asks, concern falling over his features.

“M’ tunnels won’t open,” you mumble, heedless of whether or not you actually wanted to volunteer that information. You’re almost tempted to give up trying to control yourself at this point, but to do so would be far too irresponsible for your liking.

Jack cocks his head, the corner of his mouth twisting into an adorably confused expression. “Maybe,” he suggests after a moment, “You’re too drunk to make the tunnels work?”

You groan in response, your head falling to your chest. The fact that he’s probably right makes you regret ever agreeing to be here all over again.

You hear Jack let out another huff of laughter, and look up to see him smiling at you once more. “Guess that means you’re stuck here then?”

You nod.

“Well, North’s probably got a room you can stay in. He gave me one after all.”

You nod again. North has multiple guest rooms, including an entire wing reserved for the Guardians. Each of you has your own little apartment at the pole, even if you don’t use it. You sigh, and turn to flee to your own room, only to stumble over your own feet.

It doesn’t surprise you that you’ve lost your ability to coordinate your movements, considering that you can’t even control what comes out of your own mouth. What does surprise you is that Jack catches you before you manage to fall over, immediately righting you and wrapping an arm around your waist to provide support.

“How about we get you to that guest room?”

You accept his help as graciously as possible. In this case, burping. Not exactly elegant, but the laugh you get in response seems to indicate that Jack knows what you’d meant. The two of you step out of the dining hall in silence, and remain quiet for most of the walk towards the Guardian Wing. As you approach the room assigned to you, marked by a gold-lined egg decal above the door, however, Jack stops the both of you.

“Listen, Bunny. No matter what anyone else says? You’re a great guy, probably the greatest I’ve ever met. I’m really glad we finally got to be friends.”

Your hearts almost stop right there, even as Jack opens the door and helps you into the room. Jack just- he-

You aren’t sure what to think, but the euphoria those simple words bring makes you feel almost… light. You hardly notice when Jack helps you into the egg-shaped bed against the wall, or when he pulls up the blanket so you don’t need to reach down to grab it. Nor do you notice when he steps into the adjoined bathroom and brings back a small bucket to place beside the bed.

You know from experience, however, that the greatest of highs are typically followed by the darkest of lows. Not just the hangover you’ll inevitably have in the morning, but the nightmares that always seem to follow whenever you fall so far into inebriation.

For the third time this evening, your logical mind questions why you ever agreed to be here.

As Jack walks up to the bed again, this time to place a glass of water on the table to your left, you find yourself reaching towards him and catching his arm in your hand. You wonder, briefly, what possessed you to do so.

“Stay?” is what you get as an answer.

You almost expect Jack to dismiss you, but instead he smiles at you. “Sure,” he whispers. “Don’t think I should be flying around right now anyway.”

Then, as though knowing exactly what prompted you to request his continued presence, he floats over you and flops down on the bed beside you, sitting propped up against the egg-like pillows. You turn over to face him, and after a moment of silence you scoot yourself closer and rest your head against his chest. You’ve given up questioning your actions at this point, and embarrassing though it may be to cuddle up against Jack, to seek his support and affection, you can’t deny that his presence makes you feel so much better than you had before.

An arm wraps around you, and a hand rests on your shoulder. Vibrations echo through Jack’s chest as he hums some tuneless song in an attempt to lull you to sleep.

When you fall sleep, you dream that you’re flying. Fearless, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically speaking, this was done before Healing was, but I wanted to space things out a bit and make sure it was good, since I had extra time due to life shenanigans. Hope you guys liked it. :P


End file.
